Low Hanging Fruit [Sketch]
This one was actually from the Kinktober batch - :iconJenklin: got Balls! There was originally gonna be more to this, which is why I sat on it for so long, but eventually we settled on releasing it as just this rather hot, indulgent lil story sketch, of noir detective doggo getting his nuts polished after a long day at work by his lovely lil hyena secretary.
The detective breathed a slow sigh and leaned back in his chair, the great tongues of his overcoat hanging down towards the floor. After a moment he opened his eyes again and looked out through the shuttered blinds over the window, peering out across the city outside. What a foul place. It was just like the cigars that he kept in their little box, down in the lowest shelf of his deck: thick with poison, vile and bitter, yet he still found himself coming back to it time and time again, over and over. It was a habit he couldn't break; after another day, another case closed, he found himself at once wishing to step away from the entire business... while another part of him just couldn't wait for that next hit.
A gentle rapping against the door to his office caught his attention, the Anatolian shepherd's floppy ears doing little to perk in that way. He grunted his invitation, and in stepped the sleek, slight secretary from out front, the striped hyena who looked a little bit uncomfortable bound up in the white shirt tucked into his slacks. It always puffed out in the back around his normally unkempt mane.
Detective Jenklin nodded beneath his shallow-brimmed hat, moving to rest his footpaws atop his desk. "What is it, Shekh?"
The hyena's tall ears flicked at the sound of his own name. He stepped in, nervousness shuddering through his movements, and gently closed the door behind himself. "Is there, ah..." He swallowed. "Can I help you with anything, detective?"
Jenklin looked up to the window again as he rolled the question around in his head, then turned back to his secretary. As a detective he of course knew how to read all the subtle signs that folks put forth through their body language, and in the unconscious intonations of their words. Most of the time such things were done without them even knowing, and it was only through extensive research, practice, and experience that the shepherd could pick these traits apart to get to what it was the person truly wanted.
And here, he could tell, there was some personal interest guiding Shekh forward towards the desk, past just polite curiosity. As smoothly as he had lifted his footpaws onto the desk did Jenklin shift them back off again, his chair squeaking underneath him as he turned to the side.
"Yes, actually," he answered, and motioned him forward. Shekh bowed his head in assent and strode towards him more purposefully; Jenklin had not failed to notice that he kept one paw shoved into a pocket, fingers pressing out against the material in front. Options spread through the detective's mind: I can call it out and possibly miss my chance, or let him think I haven't noticed... "Would you help me with something?"
"Of course. What is it you - need..."
Shekh trailed off. Jenklin waved him up to come around the desk, the dog already scooting up towards the edge of his seat. He reached down, swept his coat away from his body, slid the revolver out of its holster to rest it on the desk, then shifted his hat atop his head. Green eyes flicked up and down his body, displaying that look of easy nonchalance that he had practiced so often.
The hyena cleared his throat. "Is it - your-"
"Gun? No." Jenklin sat back a bit further, following the way Shekh's eyes dropped down his body. "It's my belt."
"Your - belt?"
That hesitation there, the upward note between the words. That was excitement, anticipation, bordering on disbelief. "Yes," Jenklin went on. "It's stuck. Would you help me out?"
Satisfaction thrummed gently through him - he was a detective; he couldn't help but enjoy being right - as the hyena, without another word, dropped first to one knee and then the other in front of him. Jenklin slid even closer to the edge of the seat, angling his hips forward so that the secretary could fiddle with and work at the buckle of his belt, drawing the leather strap back, pushing it through, freeing the pin... the was, of course, nothing _actually_wrong with it, and by the position of Shekh's ears and the foggy look in his eyes, Jenklin knew that Shekh knew this.
For a moment the hyena's lips pursed, preparing to speak, but nothing came out. He waited a moment, swallowed, then continued through, fingers now lingering just next to the button of the detective's pants. Hesitation, reluctance, nervousness... Jenklin shifted again, grunted, and tapped a spot on his hip.
"Almost there," the dog offered, coaxing him forward. "Just a little further."
That was the guidance he needed. Avoiding eye contact now, Shekh straightened up, pressed against the button to draw it through, then moved on to the zipper below and dragged that down as well. From here the shepherd watched the way his nose and short whiskers twitched with the burst of high, soft scent, humid musk caught up in a busy day wafting up and over him. Sleek, careful fingers curled down inside the opened flaps of his pants, touched and caressed and explored, and then - pulled his sack gently out into the air, letting his balls flop down across the base of his zipper.
Jenklin sat back again, chair creaking, and reached down for the bottom drawer of his desk. Shekh just sat there as well, green eyes slipping up and down and all over: the dog's white fur gave way to speckled pink, soft and plush, down there around his groin, pouching up into a dense, supple sheath and then hanging down further where that curled back to give way to sleek leathery-black balls, shifting and stirring in the cool air of the room.
Then they stirred again, and yet again, hanging down a little further, spreading out underneath the warmth of the secretary's breath. Shekh swallowed again, open-mouthed, and leaned in to touch his nose between those two balls; there he held himself a moment, drawing in the scent, holding it, and letting it right back out, heavy breath curling down like his fingers had a moment before. Then he did so again, and again, eyes closed, one paw coming up from underneath to cup the detective's sack against his muzzle.
Holding back his own sigh of pleasured relief, Jenklin fingered around within the box for a cigar, slid it out, and shifted to find the matchbox in his coat's pocket. Shekh's eyes briefly flashed halfway open to watch, then just as quickly fluttered shut again as he continued to dog himself in, lips pursing up between the dog's balls, nose coming close to the root of his sheath. Jenklin adjusted his legs, lifting one up a little bit and deliberately pressing himself down against his secretary's face - and a second later he felt the hyena's lips part and jaws open, followed by a gentle suckling as he drew first one, then both of those balls into his mouth.
Cigar resting between his lips, Jenklin cupped his paws around it with the struck match, sucked a few times - Shekh did the same, tongue circling around the heavy balls - then sat back with a gentle sigh, thick curls of smoke trailing out from around the base of the thing. Already his hips were gently churning, lifting up against the hyena's face each time he suckled along his sack, drawing those balls towards the back of his mouth, swallowing around them, then releasing so that they slid forward again.
The detective tilted his head to the side to take another puff from his cigar, other paw going down to ruffle the fur atop the hyena's head. Shekh lifted up a little bit, supple skin of the dog's sack drawing taut where he held it between his lips; then he opened his eyes, swallowed around them again, let his tongue curl around underneath, and let each one drop free from his maw, though he still clasped the loose, saliva-soaked skin there. There he remained a moment longer, suckling gently along the sleek skin of his sack, before letting that go too - and Jenklin's balls slowly stirred back down, hanging lower than they had before due to the heat of his secretary's maw.
Shekh's eyes flicked down towards the sheath just there in front of him, thicker, denser, bulging at the base, with a good inch and a half of glistening red-veined flesh poking out from the end. Jenklin took another puff.
"Is there-" The secretary cleared his throat. "Anything _else_I can help you with?"